As most of you know, I was fired just about a month ago for reasons having to do with this piece of avant-garde art you're reading right now. Oh, I'm sorry, did I say art? I clearly meant to type fart. My bad. Anyway, long (and retarded) story short, because of this avant-garde fart of a hobby, I was canned.
But like any good American with a dream, I didn't let that get me down. Instead, I took it as a disguised blessing to answer my true calling -- writing a 300-page cookbook filled with delicious bean recipes that can be cooked over a garbage can fire on the street. (The working title is "Being a Hobo for Hobos." And now my reference to an avant-garde fart makes much more sense.)
And to fund said activities, I decided to pawn all of my idealistic libertarian tendencies in exchange for government welfare in the form of a $359 check per week from the DC Office of Unemployment Compensation. (Next step:
Surprisingly, applying for said benefits in DC was easier than trying to hail a cab here. I could do the bulk of the form filing online. The only item the office needed a physical copy of was my direct deposit form, which, in an effort to save 42 cents on postage, I decided to bike to the physical location at 609 H. Street NE yesterday. And even that was a pleasant ride. So, basically, until I read the item I linked to at the top of the page this morning in the Washington Post about how more employers are contesting their former employees' unemployment benefit claims, I was floating along as freely as a loose deuce in a public pool (come on, this metaphor goes along with an avant-garde fart). That is, untouchable and probably a little smelly. Hey, I'm a hobo now. Give me a break.
But now? I'm worried. Well, sort of. See, I'm pretty sure my case will be contested as evidenced by the box marked on one of the forms I received back telling me "an eligibility or disqualification issue" has been raised. However, at the same time, I'm 99.9 percent sure that I can easily counter any contestation any employer may bring up because, really, who wants to get in a fight with a piece of mystery poo floating in a pool? More importantly (and, might I add, logical and less gross), my claim is solid. So solid, in fact, that Ashford and Simpson wrote a song about it when I was just five! That's right, my case to get my money didn't bat an eye when I made it cry and, for love's sake, each mistake, oh, you forgave. So both of us learned to trust, not run away! There was no time to play! We build it up, we build it up, we build it up and now it's solid! Solid as a rock! And nothing's changed it. The thrill is still hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot...or something. Ashford and Simpson are some goddamn mystic geniuses.
But whether or not you're a believer in the great oracles that are Ashford and Simpson is irrelevant as statistics are also on my side, at least according to the Post: "Even as more employers have alleged employee misconduct, their success rate has stayed relatively stable -- they lose on such issues about two-thirds of the time."
Sweet! Three derivative cheers for math: y = ƒ(x)! y = ƒ(x)! y = ƒ(x)!